“How I love you!” he whispered.

She slipped her arms about his neck with a little cry of ecstasy.

“Oh, Marsh, I have been foolish, too, but this is the place for me—­my place—­against your very heart!” she said softly.

For a long minute Langham held her so, and then tortured by sudden memory he came back sharply to the actualities.  His arms dropped from about her.

“What is it, dear?” she asked.

She was not yet ready to pass from the passion of that moment.

“It’s too late—­” he muttered brokenly.

“No, dear, it’s not too late, we have only been a little foolish.  Of course we can go back; of course we can begin all over, and we know now what to avoid; that was it, we didn’t know before, we were ignorant of ourselves—­of each other.  Why, don’t you see, we are only just beginning to live, dear—­you must have faith!” and again her arms encircled him.

“But you don’t know—­” he stammered.

“Don’t know what, dear?”

He dropped into his chair, and she sank on her knees at his side.  A horrible black abyss into which he was falling, seemed to open at his feet.  Her hands were the only ones that could draw him back and save him.

“Don’t know what?” she repeated.

The mystery of his man’s nature, with its mingled strength and weakness, was something she could not resist.

“Does it ever do any good to pray, I wonder?” he gasped.

“I wonder, too!” she echoed breathlessly.

He laughed.

“What rot I’m talking!” he said.

“What is it that is wrong, Marsh?”

“Nothing—­nothing—­I can’t tell you—­”

“You can tell me anything, I would always understand—­always, dear.  Prove to me that our love is everything; take me back into your confidence!”

“No,” he gasped hoarsely.  “I can’t tell you—­you’d hate me if I did; you’d never forget—­you couldn’t!”

She turned her eyes on him in breathless inquiry.

“I would—­I promise you now!  Marsh, I promise you, can’t you believe—?”

He shook his head and gazed somberly into her eyes.  She rested her cheek against the back of his hand where it lay on the arm of his chair.  There was a long silence.

“But what is it, Marsh?  What has happened?”

“Nothing’s happened,” he said at last.  “I’m a bit worried, that’s all, about myself—­my debts—­my extravagance; isn’t that enough to upset me?  Every one’s crowding me!”

There was another long pause.  Evelyn sighed softly; she felt that they were coming back too swiftly to the every-day concerns of life.

“I’m worried, too, about North!” Langham said presently.

“About North—­what about North?”

“They are going to bring him back; didn’t you know he had gone West?  He went last night.”

“But who is going to bring him back?”

“They want him as a witness in the McBride case.  They—­Moxlow, that is—­seems to think he knows something that may be of importance.  He’s a crazy fool, with his notions!”